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Savage Illusions

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Jolena stif­fe­ned when she saw a qu­ick an­ger le­ap not only in­to her brot­her's eyes, but al­so Spot­ted Eag­le's. Spot­ted Eag­le lo­oked as tho­ugh he was re­ady to po­un­ce on the wa­go­ner, yet Kirk be­at him to it.

Jolena to­ok a qu­ick step back and co­ve­red a scre­am be­hind her hand when Kirk hit the wa­go­ner in the chin with a do­ub­led fist, knoc­king Billy off ba­lan­ce. When Billy stum­b­led bac­k­ward and fell to the gro­und, Kirk was qu­ickly atop him, hit­ting him aga­in and aga­in.

Then when Kirk star­ted to ri­se away from Billy, thin­king that he had got­ten the best of him, Billy grab­bed a kni­fe from his wa­is­t­band and star­ted to ra­ise it for a de­ath plun­ge in Kirk's back.

But Spot­ted Eag­le saw the dan­ger. He ran to the wa­go­ner and kic­ked the kni­fe from his hand, then hel­ped Kirk up and away from him.

Kirk step­ped asi­de as Spot­ted Eag­le re­ac­hed down and grab­bed Billy's shirt just be­ne­ath the chin and bun­c­hed it up bet­we­en his fin­gers. Yan­king on the shirt, he so­on had Billy on his fe­et aga­in, blo­od stre­aming from both his no­se and mo­uth.

"I think you do not lis­ten well," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id in a low, thre­ate­ning grum­b­le as he sto­od eye to eye with Billy. "You we­re told to mind yo­ur bu­si­ness. That is go­od ad­vi­ce. So­on we will be en­te­ring Cree ter­ri­tory and all hands and guns will be ne­eded if the Cree de­ci­de to at­tack."

Billy re­ac­hed a hand up and wi­ped the salty blo­od away from his lips, then stum­b­led bac­k­ward when Spot­ted Eag­le re­le­ased his hold on him.

Spotted Eag­le fol­lo­wed Billy's ret­re­at. "And whi­te man, I be­li­eve you for­got to apo­lo­gi­ze to the wo­man," he sa­id, his te­eth clen­c­hed. "She is no squ­aw. She is no sa­va­ge. Let me he­ar you tell her that she is ne­it­her."

Billy grow­led so­met­hing down de­ep in­si­de his thro­at, then tur­ned to Jole­na. "Sorry, ma'am," he sa­id, then slo­uc­hed back to the fi­re and sat down, his sho­

ul­ders slum­ped.

As ever­yo­ne re­su­med eating the eve­ning me­al, Jole­na was hardly ab­le to ke­ep her eyes off Spot­ted Eag­le, who had tur­ned away from her too so­on for her to thank him for what he had do­ne in her de­fen­se.

She glan­ced at Kirk, thin­king that it was per­haps best that she hadn't than­ked Spot­ted Eag­le for an­y­t­hing. She co­uld tell that his pri­de had al­re­ady be­en inj­ured, in that he had be­en out­do­ne by the Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ide.

The rest of the eve­ning me­al was com­p­le­ted in si­len­ce. Ever­yo­ne then ret­re­ated to the­ir own bed­rol­ls or small tents. Jole­na wat­c­hed Kirk crawl in­to his tiny cu­bic­le of a tent, and she so­on he­ard her brot­her's fa­mi­li­ar sno­res.

She smi­led to her­self, glad that so­me things had not chan­ged. In the own pri­vacy of her small tent, whe­re blan­kets we­re spre­ad warm ac­ross the gro­und, she ma­de her en­t­ri­es in her jo­ur­nals, then la­id them asi­de and stret­c­hed out on the blan­kets. She clo­sed her eyes and pre­ten­ded that she was back ho­me in her ro­om and that she had not yet be­en fa­ced with prob­lems of iden­ti­ti­es and whet­her or not it was me­ant for her to be a part of the whi­te wor­l­dor the red. The so­und of mo­ve­ment out­si­de ca­used her eyes to blink qu­ickly open. She scar­cely bre­at­hed, won­de­ring who was stir­ring aro­und out­si­de, when only mo­ments ago it se­emed that ever­yo­ne was as­le­ep for the night.

Too cu­ri­o­us not to see who it was, Jole­na threw her blan­kets asi­de and craw­led to the tiny ope­ning of her tent. Her bre­ath se­emed sud­denly lod­ged in her thro­at and her he­art skip­ped a be­at as she wat­c­hed Spot­ted Eag­le le­ave the cam­p­si­te car­rying a lar­ge bow, a qu­iver of ar­rows at his back. With an an­xi­o­us he­ar­t­be­at, she wat­c­hed Spot­ted Eag­le un­til he be­ca­me hid­den in the sha­dows of night.

Without fur­t­her tho­ught, she scram­b­led from her tent and be­gan fol­lo­wing him.

Chapter Eight

Cicadas vib­ra­ted the­ir wings and ma­de lo­ud buz­zing so­unds on all si­des of Jole­na as she crept along be­ne­ath the tre­es, the ci­ca­das' song drow­ning out the rus­t­ling of the cot­ton­wo­od le­aves over­he­ad as a brisk wind blew thro­ugh them.

Fear ma­de Jole­na's thro­at dry, for she had yet to see Spot­ted Eag­le. She was even be­gin­ning to think that she sho­uld turn back, to re­turn to the sa­fety of the camp.

Then the spill of the mo­on's light re­ve­aled Spot­ted Eag­le's mus­c­led body thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es, whe­re he was sit­ting be­si­de the ri­ver, se­emingly in de­ep tho­ught.

Jolena's pul­se be­gan to ra­ce, won­de­ring if Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld pos­sibly be thin­king abo­ut her. Co­uld he ha­ve wis­hed her the­re? She felt fo­olish for al­lo­wing her fan­ta­si­es to con­ti­nue ca­using her to be­li­eve the im­pos­sib­le. Just be­ca­use she had ex­pe­ri­en­ced stran­ge, sen­su­al dre­ams abo­ut an In­di­an, she co­uld not ke­ep al­lo­wing her­self to be­li­eve that this Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or was, in­de­ed, the man of her dre­ams. That was not pos­sib­le, and she must stop thin­king that it was!

Yet she co­uld not help wal­king to­ward the Blac­k­fo­ot, her he­art po­un­ding har­der with each step she to­ok clo­ser to him. She knew that she sho­uld not be ac­ting li­ke a lo­ose wo­man, ac­tu­al­ly se­eking out the com­pany of a ma­nand not any man, a han­d­so­me In­di­an war­ri­or!

But not­hing less than a bolt of lig­h­t­ning stri­king her de­ad wo­uld pre­vent her from go­ing to Spot­ted Eag­le, to talk and to…

Jolena's fa­ce flo­oded with co­lor as she stop­ped her tho­ughts, fe­eling sha­me­ful for on­ce aga­in al­lo­wing her­self to think such things abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le. She must ga­in con­t­rol of her tho­ughts and her de­si­res, for he was now only a he­ar­t­be­at away as she step­ped out in­to the spill of the mo­on­light. Not far away, whe­re the hor­ses we­re re­ined up­s­t­re­am, they whin­ni­ed softly.

She jum­ped when Spot­ted Eag­le sprang sud­denly to his fe­et, an ar­row al­re­ady drawn from its qu­iver as he tur­ned qu­ickly on a he­el, his lips par­ting and his eyes wi­de­ning when he fo­und Jole­na stan­ding the­re fro­zen, it se­emed, to the gro­und as she ga­zed with star­t­led eyes up at him.

Spotted Eag­le easily slip­ped his ar­row back in­to its qu­iver and bent and la­id the lar­ge bow on the gro­und be­si­de him, his eyes ne­ver le­aving Jole­na. His he­art thun­de­red wildly aga­inst his ribs, fin­ding her even mo­re in­t­ri­gu­ingly be­a­uti­ful be­ne­ath the play of the mo­on­light. He ga­zed at the mag­ni­fi­cent li­nes of her body as the wind pres­sed her skirt and blo­use tightly aga­inst it, then wat­c­hed the wind pus­hing the dark clo­ud of her ha­ir back from the fi­nely cut li­nes of her fa­ce. He de­si­red her as he had ne­ver de­si­red any ot­her wo­man, ex­cept when he was a boy with the de­si­res of a man for a wo­man twi­ce his age.

He was that boy aga­in, de­si­ring a wo­man no less than then, and per­haps even mo­re. He had to fight back spe­aking Swe­et Do­ve's na­me, for su­rely the Gods had sent her back to him, to lo­ve with a man's he­art and a man's body.

Jolena co­uld fe­el his eyes on her, as tho­ugh he we­re bran­ding her as his, and blus­hed be­ne­ath the clo­se scru­tiny. Yet she did not lo­ok away from him with lo­we­red eyes. She held her chin high and squ­ared her sho­ul­ders even mo­re, which ma­de the mag­ni­fi­cent swell of her bre­asts even mo­re pro­no­un­ced.

"I did not me­an to dis­turb yo­ur mo­ments alo­ne," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, her words se­eming to co­me in a mad rus­has mad as the be­at of her he­art over be­ing this clo­se to Spot­ted Eag­le and to be si­lently ad­mi­red by him. "If you want me to, I can turn back and re­turn to the camp."

Spotted Eag­le sa­id not­hing for a mo­ment, then drew him­self out of his re­ve­rie and re­ac­hed a hand out to Jole­na. "No, do not re­turn to the camp unes­cor­ted,'' he sa­id, gi­ving her a scol­ding lo­ok as he frow­ned. "You we­re fo­olish to co­me this far alo­ne." He re­ac­hed out a hand to her. "But now that you are he­re, ok-yi, co­me. Sit be­si­de me. The night is warm. The mo­on and stars spe­ak gently from the sky to me. Enj­oy them with me."



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